My Story
by gladiator446
Summary: This is just about my life. Sorry I it bores you, I just want to help people.


The word "depression" doesn't express the true emotion. But things like that can't be put into one word, one sentence, not even one paragraph. So this story is me trying to undesrtand what depression really is. This story is for all people who have depression; I hope it helps you as much as it helped me.  
Some of you might read this because a friend makes you read it, and that's fine by me. I have a friend who will never admit to herself that she has depression. All of her curse words prove her denial and pride. She doesn't know it, though. Reading this would just make her angry.

*Chapter 1- About Me

I was born on April 30, 1999 in San Antonio, Texas, where I still live. I don't deserve comfort for my "depression" because there weren't any catastophic events that would make me change. The only problem was ADD. I would define myself as rash, which is an understatment. One time I got in toruble at school for being mean to a girl, which I didn't actually mean to do, so I drank a bottle of "Head and Shoulders" shampoo. The burning came from my stomach and up to my throat, and I either fell asleep from crying all night or passed out, I'm not sure. My sister has always been the favorite to my parents. If I got a B on my math test, nothing could make me more proud of myself. But when I got home Miranda would have an A. She made me a discrace to my family. When Miranda started voulenteering at an animal shelter my parents would brag about Miranda, and I was always avoided as a conversation topic. There's nothing more frustrating than being an embarassment for something I can't control, just like ADD. I've never told the entire series of events, but here it goes. Everything started with ADD. Since I go to an advanced school, any grades below an A are worth questioning. In 6th grade, I had Bs and Cs. ADD medicines have pretty harsh side effects, so my doses were light. All I got from it was feeling like I would pass out pretty much all the time. One after another the doctor threw out her top choices for me. Vivance was the start of the problem. I never felt hungry, so I lost a ton of weight. Before that, I had lost 20 pounds because my gallbladder stopped working and no one could figure out what the problem was until a few months after I stopped eating. 75 pounds was the averge weight of my healthy friends, but I weighed around fifty, so it was bad, but not too bad. Fanfiction suddenly became my only companion, because my friends were too talkative for me. Homework wasn't too important, and school was just rediculous. That's when I met Hannah, a girl from England who I could relate to. She wrote a story about Twilight and Evermore mixed and it was beautiful. What started out as a compliment ended up with her telling me about the times when she tried to kill herself. The time difference was hard, so she stayed up late so she could talk to me. We both struggled, even though she had good reason. She was poor, I was rich (kind of). We both hated life, and just wanted it to end. Even though we didn't try and talk eachother out of suicide, it helped. I looked forward to letting of steam everyday. I always expected her to not respond oneday, and later find out that she had ended her life. I would have done the same if that happened. No one knew, because if they did my parents might find out about my intentions and put me in a crazy house. I didn't talk at school very much, and laughing was hard and forced. My friends thought that was my new personality, and well, so did I. Depression was so out of the question.  
I was a robot, and even though I knew my friends didn't want to talk to me, they attempted to make me laugh every once and awhile. They took my silence and sarcasm as dry humor, and so did I. It was my new thing, so that might be why I didn't consider a problem with myself. There's so much denial in my life, and wish there was someone there to tell me that something was wrong. I probably would have ignored them, because that's the way I am: stubborn and proud. It got interesting when i took a medicine called Straterra, which I now consider "Pills of death", because of what happened.

*Chapter 2-Strattera*

To start out, you take small doses, increasing with time. Nothing went wrong until the final dose.I would wake up in the middle of the night crying with pain in my stomach. It was paralyzing so I couldn't move to take Tums or Mylanta, which were my favorite things on Earth. Sometimes I made it downstairs, literally crawling down the staircase to my parents bathroom, trying not to wake them since it was three in the morning. most of the time nothing happened, but the placebo affect was enough to keep me quiet for a while. I stopped eating because eating seemed to provoke these "Gas attacks" as I call them.  
The thing about straterra is that you have to stop taking it gradually, since it is addictive. Otherwise you go through something called withdrawls, which include headaches, suicidal thoughts, stomach pains, flu-like symptoms, and pretty much all crappy things piled ontop of eachother.  
My momm told me to stop taking it, and I assumed "mother knows best" so i stopped. I got tired, but i thought i was just stressed from school. i got a little sensitive, and cried when someone yelled at me or something.  
Then it got worse, I had meldowns when my sister, who I already hated, made rude comments because she saw i was vulnerable. My favorite thing, the piano, even made be throw tantrums when I missed a note I lost my place. I would get so angry that I started cutting myself. But it wsn't really cutting. I dug my nails into my shoulders, ankles, and head to get all the anger out of my hands. Blood dripped down my arms and forehead, and my air always got tangled and tasted salty when i chewed it. I tried to kill myself a dew times after that. I chugged a bottle of listerine, but that jst made me feel loopy, probably from the alcohol. I did find my dad's gun, but i was so out of it I didn't think to pull the trigger. I still regret that, it just would have been easy. In my eyes, everyone hated me. My sister, which was already obvious, my friends, who were scared of me, and my family, who always told me to shut up when I cried.i was a nuiscance, so annoying and dull that not even a new dog would make me smile.

*Chapter 3- Cutting*

Alot of people have dabbled with self-harm, but most use pushpins or scissors or some sharp tool. Maybe a knife if they can hide it. It was grusome, using my nails, especially since i chewed them down to the nub. It feels so normal when you do it, like it ok if you do it the way your doing it. The feeling of having this secret almost makes you proud of it. You're dangerous, special, dark and twisted, like the girl in romance novel who gets the hot guy. The pain is surreal, and satisfying when you're that fogged with feelings. Your eyes can see, but it doesn't affect you. Insults don't hurt, pain isn't painful. The only feeling you have is the soreness in your stomach. Each emotioin is so suddle that you don't cry. The overlapping pain makes it the same feeling from each, but it hurts all the same, but more. Only people with depression understand that. You don't want to move because you find more pain somewhere out there. The reaction hurts more than your direct feelings. My thoughts were revolving around death and how good it was. I wanted it, but it was good that i couldn't touch it. So satisfying that I was guilty accepting it. Like if someone offered you a their home. How could you accept? It was theirs.  
A few weeks into my withdrawls a friend had a birthday party. I was proud of my scars and happily showed them off. No one could believe it, and I was so stupid to not realize something was wrong. It was me, but the evil was overtaking me. I was living in my subconsious. All the I had built up wasn't hiding anymore. One word meant the other. My smile was really me smiling at the idea of someone else's pain. I watched animes surrounded by death and gore. I idolized all things sad and suffering.

*Chapter 4- Regrets*

Coming out of my withdrawls was the worst part. I enjoyed the pain, and I still wish I could be living in that daze. But I regretted the cutting, the telling everyone my pain, especially the ones who had no intention of hearing it. I told it happily, like a serial killer telling someone about how much they enjoyed what they did. I was crazy. I was hiding the depth in the story because I knew that anymore someone would call a person with authority to take me away. I would be the twelve year old in a strait jacket. I regretted the tantrus I threw, and the hours I wasted asking God to kill me. I regretted the fat that I shredded my piano bench to shreds underneath, which was thin papery cloth, hiding the frame of the bench no one covered in fabric. I was frantic and completley insane. I had panic attacks so frequently that my heart seemed to be on the verge of giving up the race against my brain. I regretted the baths I took when I tried to drown myself, even though I knew I wouldn't pull it off. Drowning seems so painful, just holding my breath in the pool was too much.  
Even though I regretted them then, I don't regret them now. I realized so many things. I realized that I'm not afraid of anything except pain. I'm glad that I used to "cut" myself. I know, that sounds weird, but it's true. I would have the experience I have now. Though I'm only 13 and have a long ways to go, as some might say, but I can say that this happened, and I want to document it while it's still relativley fresh in my mind.

*Chapter 5- Nowadays*

I still have depression, I always will. I never goes away, it doesn't come and go. People who say that are just moody. The feelings are so deep that they seem shallow to people. Those are the people who rely on medication to make them happy. They're not happy, those people are afraid of facing the pain and getting through it. They are fake happy. Their smiles are fake, just like the ones they had when they could still face it. I feel like I went to slay the dragon, and I didn't kill it, just indimidated it. It migh come back and push me around, but it won't kill me. The only thing that can kill me is myself. I still have to face the real me, but I need to wait until I can figure it out. I don't have a real personality yet.  
I've gotten over the biggest mountain, and it's flat enough for that I can talk about what happened and what I should have known. I'll always keep trying to help Hannah, and according to our emails I've helped a little bit. She's more of a sister than my real one, who is so unfriendly and unforgiving that I don't even bother looking at. Hannah helped me, but it feels like I'm leading her in the wrong direction.  
Life is unfair, and it seems easier to not live it. But God is testing us, so I'll try to pull through until I'm old, but I have accepted that some pain is not worth feeling, and that then I will cut short my life, as drastic as that may sound. But whatever I do God knows I would do it. I hope that he forgives me if I do, and maybe if I help someone he'll help me.

*Chapter 6- The End*

No story this twisted could have a happy ending without it being a lie. I still cut myself, instead of actually cutting I rip skin off of my feet with scissors until it bleeds. It seemed normal until I just took a step back and though about all that I've done. Some people need that, but are too ignorant to even understand what that for now, I'll just pretend that this happened in the other me, The one that I hide in the pages of this book. I need to live in a world where people think with their emotions, not the disciplines of reality. If I tried living like that here, I'd be fighting a losing battle. People are fake and unforgiving, but hopefully someday they can live without thinking about how it will affect themselves.  
I would have told someone before if people could actually listen. I thought about getting help from my mom, but she's the kind that says "You can talk to me about anything", and when you do, rips all hopes of forgivness and understanding to shreds. If I cry, she threatens to slap me, which never helps. My kids will never have to deal with an emotionless mom. But of course, my sisters gets all the medication. She even got birth control pills when she complained that her palms were sweaty. They made an appointment at the hospital when her head hurt. When my gallbladder was messed up, my mom said to shut up. I can never win. All the hatred and furstration is bottled inside, and I take it out on myself. At least there's some experience to keep me upright. Venting doesn't help me, because words can't describe the accumulated fury that burns in my fingertips. But life sucks, and then you die. So I'll deal with that for now, since there's nothing I can do about it.

*Chapter 7- What is Depression*

What I've learned from writing this that depression is a flurry of emotions coming from nowhere. It makes you feel like you have no purpose and that you are unloved. It takes your hapiness and gives it to someone who doesn't need it. All you can see is hatred. It makes you think that everything is alright when it isn't. I love it and hate it at the same time, even though I don't know where the love came from, but I can't take get rid of it. This story is for all people who have depression, whether they know it or not; I hope it helps you as much as it helped me. 


End file.
